


The Thief, the Heiress, and the Hero

by DinasEmrys, Liara_90



Series: Vigilante AU [4]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bisexual Female Character, Crime Fighting, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Intrigue, Lesbian Character, Multi, Plot, Supersuit, Vigilante AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinasEmrys/pseuds/DinasEmrys, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weiss is reluctantly overjoyed when Yang returns to Vale after several years away. But with the blonde on a mission to find her father's killer, and the entire city running rampant with costumed gangsters, ridiculously-armed psychopaths, and the arrival of a master thief with a particularly nice posterior, will Weiss be able to keep Yang alive long enough to tell her how she feels?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm restructuring the way I laid out the Vigilante AU. What that means: most of the existing parts are being re-named as Vigilante: Origins. This section is purely focused on the relationship between Blake, Weiss, and Yang. Any 'filler' will get separate entries in the AU.

_March 23rd, 2014 - Weiss_

Weiss was struck by how small she felt, balanced atop the brawler's knees. The hem of her nightdress pressed against her skin, showing off the thin lines of muscle in her legs, bare arms tense by her sides. Yang was holding her, hands clasped around her waist, the simple act of touching sending the allegro beat of Weiss' heart well into ... something faster.  _Stringendo_?

No ...  _prestissimo_. How could she forget that? She'd lived and breathed music for years, the Italian phrases drilled into her brain by her father's tutor. That was the beat, that fast pace, that tempo when frantic fingers flew across monochrome keys, desperate to keep up with her pounding heart-

 _What is wrong with me_? she thought, shaking her head free of musical notation. Yang's fingers were moving against the thin dress, thumbs running along the tight skin at the curve of her hip. The simple touch was as terrifying as it was intoxicating, panic rushing through her while a steady need slowly built, tugging, pooling in her-

"he ... eiss. ... rth to Weiss?"

She blinked, eyes refocused on the blonde seated beneath her. "... sorry?"

"Weiss, come on. Look at me." Yang cocked her head to the side, angling up so she could look the heiress in the face. "If you don't want to do this-"

"I do," Weiss cut her off in an instant, glaring furiously and thoroughly hating the trembling in her legs.

"Then can ya tell me why you're so freaked out?"

"I am not 'freaked out,' Yang."

"Right, 'cause I'm barely touching you, and already your breathing's shallow and just slightly shy of hyperventilating, there's a lot of rapid eye movement, plus I can  _feel_  you shaking ..."

"Fine," Weiss snapped, and immediately regretted it. This wasn't Yang's fault ... mostly. "Sorry. I may be ... just a little nervous."

Even in the dark confines of the room, she could still make out that familiar, crooked, infuriating little smile. The one she'd seen on the blonde's face countless times in the years she'd known her.

"About little old me?"

"No, you ass," Weiss growled, and socked her in the shoulder. It hit harder than she'd meant, but Yang just kept grinning, insufferably pleased at the effect she was having on the other girl.

"Good," the blonde said, arms wrapping around Weiss' waist. For second, Weiss nearly panicked, thinking Yang was about to ... start. Then the blonde lifted the smaller woman off her lap, setting her on the edge of the bed before shifting back to give her room.

"Considering that you're the CEO of a multinational company and I'm living in your house, I'm pretty sure  _I'm_  supposed to be the nervous one."

"Cute." Weiss let out one long, shaky breath. Trust Yang to try for a joke  _now_ , of all times. Even just sitting next to her, having Yang this close was ... distracting. Especially since this needed saying, whether she wanted to or not. Yang had a right to know the truth, no matter how humiliating it was.

"Yang, have you ... thought about us being together?"

"Recently? Yeah. Maybe more than I should have." The grin slipped a little as Yang reached for the heiress' hands, covering thin fingers with her calloused ones. "Look, Weiss, it's going to be a little awkward going from best friends to ... whatever we're gonna be. But I really think it's worth the risk. That you're worth the risk."

Weiss bit the inside of her cheek. Yang would insist on making this entire process more difficult. And on doing it simultaneously in the nicest and most obnoxious way.

"I have liked you for a long time, Yang Xiao Long."

"I know." The blonde finally had the grace to look sheepish. "I am sorry I didn't notice sooner."

"That's not the poin-" Weiss cut herself off mid-retort. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.  _Deep breath_ , she told herself.  _You're not actually angry with her at the moment, and it's your failure to communicate that's frustrating you._

"For a  _long_  time, you dolt."

"Yeah, I ... oh," Yang trailed off as realization hit her. The normally unflappable blonde actually looked stunned, finally shocked into speechlessness. Then her grin returned, wider than ever, malevolent and playful and promising things far too sinful to contemplate.

_Oh, she will never _le_ t me live this down._

"So," Yang purred, lips still split in that amazing, irritating grin. "When you were thinking about 'us,' exactly how much clothing was I wearing?"

Weiss flat-out refused to answer, although she had a feel that, given how red she was, it was fairly obvious.

If anything, Yang's grin grew wider, a cheshire half-circle of teeth that gleamed in the dark bedroom. " _That's_  an interesting mental image. Not an entirely unwelcome one, either."

"Shut up, Yang."

"Come on, we've all been there. You had a long night, needed to burn off some stress, you felt lonely ..."

"You're enjoying watching me squirm."

"I plan to, but you're kinda missing the point here." Ignoring Weiss' twitching, Yang knelt down by the side of the bed, staring up at her. Even in the unlit room, Weiss could see the lavender curves of her eyes, their open, honest look completely at odds with the words coming out of her mouth.

"I, the object of your oh-so sordid fantasies, am right in front of you, and I doubt there's anything you can come up with that I won't be ready for. So," she smiled, hands rubbing gently against Weiss' skin. "If you can bring yourself to be honest with me, I  _will_  make your wildest dreams come true."

She swallowed, nerves making her already dry throat even tighter. "... how about an old favorite first? Then we work up to the wild ones."

Yang beamed. "Good to see you're finally starting to relax."

As if Weiss was some startled animal, ready to scamper away at any moment, the blonde slowly leaned forward. Cautiously, her eyes locked on Weiss' all the while, her hands shifted to either side of Weiss' knees, pressing into the bed as she moved forward and met the heiress' mouth with her own.

For about a split second, Weiss panicked, wondering what to do with her nose, her hands, if Yang was planning on using tongue, or if she wouldn't want Weiss to try the same. There were a million things to take into account, a thousand worries running through her head, convincing her that she would find some way to screw this up. That Yang would pull away and this would all be over. Then Yang pressed a little deeper and Weiss was gone, lost in oblivion, in the feeling of those lips, soft and warm against her.

The kiss broke for a second, long enough for Weiss to breathe. The blonde paused, eyes searching Weiss' face, hesitating just long enough for the heiress to wrap her arms behind Yang's neck. With one fast yank, they were pinned together, Yang's lip managing to curl up in a smile despite the mouth desperately jammed against her own. Their second kiss went on for a lot longer, hands sliding up into Weiss' hair, long fingers twisting through pale strands until they cupped the back of her head, holding her tenderly in the kiss. Weiss, to her chagrin, was not as gentle, arms twined behind Yang's neck and shoulders, desperate to trap the taller blonde against her.

Eventually, Yang pulled away, untangling herself from Weiss' arms, her face flushed and grinning that impossible grin. Slowly, achingly slowly, she pushed Weiss back against the sheets, pale legs now just barely dangling over the edge of the bed. Fingers ran along the edges of her nightdress, playing with the hem before inching upward, pulling the thin cloth up until they ran across the bare skin of her hips. Those hands were electric against her, Weiss' chest shaking with baited breath, fighting to keep her hips from rolling. Finally, Yang knelt and leaned forward, lips just barely brushing against the inside of Weiss' thigh, kissing their way up until finally, thankfully, she–

* * *

Weiss woke with a gasp.

It took her a second to remember where she was, her mind twisting and tangling as she fought with the sheets. Finally triumphant, she threw the blankets off, pupils blown wide, her braid a tangled mess. Her breath was fast and frantic, coming in short gasps until her eyes made out the posts of her bed, the lines of the dresser set against the wall.  _My room_ , she reminded herself, noting the disturbed sheets and how cold the other half of the queen-sized bed had become.

She was alone. Horribly, blessedly alone.

Flopping back onto the bed, she grabbed the pillow, pulling over her mouth before letting out one long muffled scream. Rage and frustration ripped up her throat, until she had no more breath to give, and she let it fall away with a half-choked sob.

 _Just a little longer,_ she thought.  _For the love of god, this_ one  _time, why couldn't it have lasted just a little longer?_

Opening her eyes, Weiss realized one side of her bed was brighter than the other. She rolled onto her side, glaring over at the little flashing square of light. Her phone. The little rectangle sat into its charging dock, shining innocently, completely oblivious in its atrocious betrayal.

Seriously considering the method by which she was going to brutally murder whoever had woken her, Weiss reached for the little white plastic case. Squinting, she tried to make out the name currently blinking in the little notification.

Yang.

Of course it was. The name flashed above the message, apologizing if she'd woken Weiss and saying she had just boarded her flight.

Letting the anger slip away, Weiss checked the time. Four in the morning - her plane must have been delayed. Cursing, she laid the phone flat on the nightstand and rolled over on her side, covers tucked up under her chin and trying desperately to ignore how completely and utterly wound up she was.  _Two more hours_ , she thought, _just let me get those two._ She had a full day ahead of her - more so, since she'd decided to take the afternoon off and help Yang get settled.

 _This time_ , she thought.  _This time, I_ will  _tell her._

 _If she's not with anyone already,_  some traitorous part of her whispered. _She probably would have mentioned it, but_ _there's always the chance_ _..._

_No. She's not. She would have told me. Which means that there's no one. No issue of me not wanting to make her life any more complicated. No worries over seeming like I'm trying to steal her away from someone. All I have to do is tell her._

_Fine. Doesn't mean that she'll actually feel the same way you do._

Wondering what exactly she had to do to kill the hissing doubts swirling in her head, Weiss buried herself under her pillows and waited for sleep.


	2. Thief, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang starts to hunt down her next lead on her father's killer.

_April 12th, 2014 - Yang_

The city of Vale sits high along America's western coast, crouched beneath the crimson forest that forms Forever Fall, the eastern edge of the Pacific lapping along its side. The ever-red maple trees –  _acer semperrubrums_ , I think Weiss called them once – sprinkle their way down through the city, lining sidewalks well into the commercial district, eventually giving way to less iconic evergreens. They finally stop their southward trek at the banks of the Beacon River, which flows from a lake surrounded by the university that bears its name, splitting the city in half before emptying out into the harbor. Halfway down, it's joined by the Vermilion tributary, snaking its way northward and cupping the residential district between the two branches, shielding its inhabitants from the hustle and bustle of the northern skyscrapers and the grinding factories in the east.

Weiss' penthouse sits atop a high-rise on the northern bank of the river, close enough to see where rivers join, bearing their fair share of summer kayaks and sailboats out towards the ocean. In summer, the boats fill the water, gathering for races and fireworks displays, keeping just enough distance from the ferries loaded with passengers making the trip out to Patch Island. Even this early in the spring, a few courageous souls dare the cold water, tiny shapes meandering beneath and between the bridges, with longer slopes cutting between the others as rowing teams stroke their way along. If you step out onto the patio in the evening, you can stare out across the water, looking down at the short, squat houses built along the sloping hills on the opposite bank, a few lights glinting from lucky souls living on the beachfront.

Which is precisely where I sat, leafing through the Vale Times and circling entries in the classifieds section in yellow highlighter. I was just turning to the next page, trying to find a job that wouldn't make me want to drive a screwdriver between my eyes, when I heard the tell-tale click of heels on the hardwood floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Want ads," I said, circling yet another job that might possibly take me. "Can't freeload off you forever."

Weiss made a little skeptical snort behind me, and I swiveled around to look. My host stood in the doorway, a sleeveless periwinkle-blue cocktail dress clinging to her sides, little rings of black sequins sprinkled liberally across her neckline.

"Zip me up?" Gathering her long, white hair in one hand, she turned, exposing her half-covered back, pale skin broken only by the lacy black strap that cut beneath her shoulder blades. I obliged, careful to keep the odd strand of hair from getting caught in the zipper's steel teeth.

"Thanks," she said, letting her locks settle across her back. She half-turned back towards the windows, eyes flicking to her faint reflection as her hand came up to fix her hair. She stopped, suddenly self-conscious, and lowered her hand back to her side, looking a little flushed.

Nah. It was probably just a trick of the light. Or she was still a little pink from the shower. Weiss's preference leans toward the barely survivable side of boiling her skin off, a fact I'd discovered fairly painfully my third night here. How she keeps from getting third-degree burns is beyond me.

"You look good," I said, giving her an exaggerated once-over before nodding approvingly. "Hot date?"

She gave me a look that was half-eye roll half-scowl before turning her attention to a spec of lint marring the light-leeching black of her dress. "Charity gala that I'm expected to attend, and I'm bringing Ruby. She's thrown herself into her work lately, and I want her to do spend a few hours doing something outside of work or school."

I nodded absently. Neither of us mentioned the reason my sister had been working so hard, or why she'd spent very little time in the penthouse she shared with Weiss. Namely, the blonde standing uncomfortably on the patio.

"Speaking of the office, I have a delivery for you." Weiss vanished back into the apartment, only to emerge with a manila folder two inches thick.

"Tell me you're not giving me homework."

"No,  _this_  you might actually read," she said, enough humor in her voice to keep it in the territory of friendly ribbing. "The name you 'found' – I had one of our security consultants call in a favor from someone he knows at Interpol. You'd be surprised at the number of people who've been reported to pose a danger to SDC's holdings."

"Long list?"

"Extremely."

"And if,  _hypothetically_ , someone had a 'chat' with just one of those names ..."

"It would clearly be due to the man's chosen occupation, not because of an inquiry made by a very respectable corporation." Weiss actually smiled at that.

I flicked open the manila folder. At the top of the pile sat a photocopy of some official-looking Russian document, a long series of backwards letters printed in big block type along the top. Smaller backwards letters spelled out what I guessed was his name, Роман Торчинович, printed next to a photo of a smarmy-looking man wearing far too much eyeliner.

"Pomah Topyhobny?" I asked, my tongue tripping over itself.

"It's 'Roman Torchinovich,' which you'd know if you bothered to actually read the file instead of just glancing at the top page."

I rolled my eyes and took her advice, flicking through Roman's disturbingly thick record while Weiss got ready to leave.

Roman Torchinovich, dubbed "Torchwick" thanks to his easily-mangled name, had been a periodic guest of several nations' penal justice systems in the past twenty-odd years. It looked like what I would expect out of any other career criminal; the only interesting thing was that he tended to spend considerably more time outside of prison than in it. On the few occasions he'd actually been caught, Torchwick had usually managed to escape well before trial. He had five warrants out for his arrest, four issued by different countries and one for the entire European Union. On the off chance anyone did manage to catch him, it'd be a toss-up to see who'd get the pleasure of prosecuting him first.

His rap sheet read like a criminal's A-to-Z, and was about as educational, at least for the sheer number of ways they could call this guy an utter scumbag. He'd been suspected, accused, charged, or convicted of money laundering, arson, theft, burglary, theft again, fraud, robbery, armed robbery, grand larceny, more theft, securities fraud, possession of stolen property, grand theft auto, grave robbing, resisting arrest, practicing dentistry without a license, and ...

"Cattle rustling?"

Weiss' head popped out of the closet. "Apparently he ran out of gas during a highway pursuit. Jumped a fence and rode a dairy cow to freedom."

"... you're joking."

"Of course I am. He tried using them to smuggle diamonds across the Canadian border."

I nodded and decided I  _really_  didn't want to know how he'd tried. "Thanks. I'm not sure if I could have gotten this on my own."

"It wasn't that much of a hassle." Weiss paused, black pea coat in hand, jaw working as she mulled over what to say next. "Yang, promise me you won't do anything-"

"Stupid?"

"I was going to say 'foolhardy,'" She drawled, her voice dry as she pulled on her coat. "Same thing, I guess."

"Weiss, I promise not to go off half-cocked and burn down half the city."

"Good. I doubt my insurance would cover it."

I laughed, glad to see she was still relaxed enough to joke. "Get going. Have fun at your party."

She glared, but I could still see the humor in Weiss' eyes before the door closed behind her. I gave her a good ten-minute head start, then got ready to go myself. If anyone with a record this long was in town, somebody had to know about him – and I was willing to bet my triad 'contacts' would have an idea or two on how to find him.

* * *

It was still fairly early by the time I got to  _JUST_ , but a line had already formed in front of a massive mountain of a man, what neck he might have buried beneath a thick beefy jaw and a metric tonne of muscle. The LED sign dyed the waiting crowd a deep rust-red in the dim pre-twilight glow, impatience and anticipation turning to grumbling as I bypassed the line. The bouncer watched me move for the door, realized I was about to walk straight through him, then stepped aside with a guard dog's reluctance, knowing that the visitor was welcome and still resenting the trespass on his territory.

I couldn't resist giving a cocky little lift of my chin and a grin as I walked by, his impassive face somehow getting harder and duller. He knew who I was, and I was willing to bet he didn't like it one bit. Which, honestly, was a little odd. I didn't remember him from the guys I'd trounced on my first visit.

Meh. Maybe I broke his brother's nose or something. These ganged-up guys get so  _sensitive_ about their egos.

The club was packed to the brim, people crammed in thick enough to violate several fire codes. The floor shook, a steady rhythmic earthquake set off by the bouncing crowd. Squinting my eyes against the burning red-and-white lights, I shoved my way through the crowd, heading to the one place I knew I could always get what I wanted:

The bar.

I was only halfway through my first drink – frozen strawberry sunrise, with one of those cute little umbrellas – when I felt a small, long-fingered hand running along my shoulder.

"Someone's a little early this week," Miltia drawled in a monotone that, for her, counted as a warm hug and a smile. They're not usually what you'd call 'demonstrative.'

"We are working," Melanie said, her voice dropping to a purr as she shifted onto the bar stool beside me. "But I think we could take a ... short break."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm here on business."

"Oh." She straightened, made some gesture I couldn't quite make out, and the bartender scampered off to the other end of the bar, following by an exasperated clump of people waiting for drinks.

"Now," she said, her voice dropping low enough that we probably wouldn't be overheard. "What can two enforcers for the Xiong group do for you?"

I snorted. To be fair, it was just like her to be particularly up front about the whole thing.

"My most recent employer is in the market for a thief, and I'm not as familiar with the local talent as I'd like," I said. "Don't suppose either of you would know anyone available?"

The twins shared a look, doing the whole silent-sisters-talking thing. I know they weren't doing it to make me jealous, but I remembered a time when Ruby and I could pull that off. Drove Dad crazy with it, actually. It was something I missed.

"How about a burglar from Birmingham?" Melanie asked, pulling me out of my self-recrimination. "Stole a nice gem from the head of the Yanwu a few months back."

"Decent sort," Miltia chimed in. "Very 'English,' really likes tea ..."

I shook my head. Of course. Why would I assume they'd just automatically point me at the guy I wanted? I mean, it would be convenient, but the chance of them randomly picking the exact same thief I wanted had to be slim-to-none.

"I need someone familiar with the Russians." It was a shot in the dark, but one of the files mentioned Torchwick had robbed one of the mobs based out of Moscow. Probably wasn't the kind of thing most people survived. If I was lucky, that should narrow down the list a bit. "Ideally someone on less-than-good terms with the Soylent-svetlana-bratwurst mob."

"You mean the SoIntsevskaya Bratva?"

"That one I can never pronounce? Sure."

The twins shared a look of utter disdain.

"You want Roman," Melanie said finally, with the distinct tone of someone who wanted dearly to spit on another's grave.

I blinked, holding onto my best poker face. After the last person I'd asked them for information on, it wouldn't be a huge stretch to assume that this guy might not leave his encounter with me in one piece. At least it didn't seem like they'd mind ...

"Who is this Roman, and why does it sound like saying his name causes you actual physical pain?"

"Roman Torchwick," Melanie said, talking through her teeth. "Is a dysfunctional, unstable, irritating little-"

"He's a jackass," Miltia cut her off. "Don't take your eyes off him."

"That ... shouldn't be a problem. You have an address?"

Melanie reached for a napkin and scribbled something down before sliding it over. "Our organization scoped him out a while back, in case there was a need for 'retribution.' His boys work out of an abandoned warehouse on the waterfront, but he keeps an apartment over on Twenty-third and Regal."

"In case you feel the need to visit him at home," Miltia said, her voice leaving little illusion about what she'd like to happen, should I get the urge to make a house call.

I grinned, and reach for the napkin. "Thanks."

I tugged, but Melanie's hand kept it pinned to the bar.

"After the matter of our payment," she shrugged. "Sorry, Yang. Everything has a price."

"Fair enough," I said. "How about we say I'll owe you one?"

"Make it 'your boss in the body armor owes us one,' and you have a deal." Melanie pulled her hand away. "After the attack on the Cardinals, that's actually worth something."

"How much did you hear?"

"Not much," Miltia chirped, pulling a bottle of vodka out from beneath the bar. "The Cardinals are putting up a fuss, barking at anyone who they think might have had anything to do with it. They want whoever did it dead in a bad way, but they don't have anything left to go on. We only know you were involved because your information came from us."

"As for Roman, just watch yourself, Yang." Melanie took the shot glass Miltia offered her, clinking it against mine before raising it to her lips. "To your health, Yang. Remember, one of these days, Junior  _will_  collect. See you Thursday."

I downed the last of my drink and walked away, slipping the address into my pocket and trying my hardest not to think about what I might one day have to do.

* * *

To anyone who hasn't had the pleasure, there are few things as mind-numbingly boring as a stakeout. You're usually uncomfortable, constantly trying to stay out of sight, and apart from stare at a door for hours on end, have absolutely nothing to do. Not my favorite activity. Then again, as stakeouts went, I'd gotten lucky.

Torchwick's hidey-hole was deep in the industrial district, twelve miles south of the river and eighteen blocks in from the waterfront. Unlike the northern half, it hadn't gone through the 'gentrification' efforts of the last decade. Most of the buildings still held light factories or warehouse retail stores, surrounded by streets with under-valued storefronts catering to the area's residents, most of whom lived in the flats above. Everything was a little duller this far South, the sun-washed paint chipping off doors and storefronts, rust coating the steel bars of fire escapes. There was a halfway decent coffee shop across the street from Torchwick's place, a pizza joint three doors down, and an only slightly filthy pub across the street. Everything I'd need for an extended stay.

I managed to get there a few hours before the coffee place closed, grabbed a latte, and settled in by the window, feigning interest in the newspaper stretched across the table. Silent table companions and refills came and went as I waited for the place to start shutting down. I was careful to keep the apartment window and the building's door angled at the corner of my eye, apart from the occasional and all-too-necessary sprint to the bathroom.

By the time they started to close up shop, I'd already tired of the smell of coffee beans and the leftover overpriced pastries. Abandoning my seat, I traded the warmth and comfort for the cold and wet outside, huddling beneath the awning of a newsstand, before spending an inordinate amount of time pretending to pick out a magazine and a candy bar at a bodega. Ignoring the suspicious glare from the manager, I headed back into the rain, careful to stay as far out of sight from the window as I could. My ball cap made its appearance, then vanished, my raincoat switching between being pulled tight around me and hanging on the rack at the pizzeria once the rain really started to go. I switched between layers when I could, doing what I could in the hope that so no one would notice the same blonde woman loitering around the block.

It wasn't perfect, and if he'd known I was hunting him, Roman probably wouldn't have any trouble spotting me. But I managed to stay out of sight, watching as he rolled back home a little after ten, the collar of his ratty black jacket pulled tight against his neck. He was slinking home, looking like any other miserable schmuck caught out in the rain, not a known fugitive with warrants out for him across Europe.

Then again, that was probably why he'd come to Vale. However he had managed to get across the ocean, I was willing to bet it hadn't been easy. Either he was desperate enough to make the trip, or he could afford the cash and favors to slip into the country illegally.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wait much longer. Roman strolled out of his door an hour later, a cane hanging off one wrist of his spotless white coat while he fumbled with an umbrella, black bowler pulled down over his freshly-coiffed orange hair.

I waited, putting a decent clump of people between us before I followed. As tall as I am, I'm just too noticeable, and I didn't want to risk tipping him off by getting too close. It was a gamble; all I could see of him between the heads of the crowd was that black bowler bobbing beneath the white expanse of his umbrella. At least the orange hair would still be pretty easy to spot if he dumped the hat.

I kept pace behind him, ducking between passers-by and trying to stay close to other groups. Hopefully, I could blend in with the crowd, keep him from picking me out and spotting the tail. We walked a little over a mile through the city, working our way north towards the riverbank. The surrounding buildings slowly grew less run-down, the paint less chipped, the metal less rusty. Then the crowd shifted, a party of five staggering out of some dive bar and onto the street, crowding and hassling each other and generally getting in my way. By the time I elbowed my way through, the bowler was out of sight.

I bolted for the corner, trying not to look too frantic as I searched for Torchwick.

It was no use. I'd lost him. Which gave me two choices: head to the second address the twins had given me and hope he showed, or break into the now-definitely empty apartment and paw through all his stuff.

What the hell. I was bored of waiting anyway.


	3. Thief, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang breaks into Torchwick's place, and finds a new player has shown up in town. Weiss attempts to get Ruby to open up to Yang.

_April 12th, 2014, 8:00 PM - Weiss_

"So, why are we here again?" Ruby asked, staring up at the doric columns that framed the entrance to the Roosevelt Hotel. One of the ritzier spots in Vale, the place was a favorite for the more formal society events, or weddings for those who could afford a ballroom measured in furlongs. The hotel staffers had pulled out all the stops, warm lights shining on a red carpet thoughtfully rolled out for the arriving guests, the march to the doors broken only by the flashing bulbs of society reporters grabbing shots for their morning editions.

Glancing down to avoid the flashes of the paparazzi, Weiss slid out of the towncar, periwinkle-blue dress swirling about her legs, heels clicking lightly on the pavement.

"Schnee Dust is a corporate sponsor for the Metropolitan opera, and I couldn't get out of attending their charity gala. You're here to keep me sane," she said, straightening and stepping aside for the hotel staffer to shut the door behind her.

The taller girl snorted, blowing a disobedient hair out of her face. "Especially since you could probably out-sing any soprano on stage tonight."

"It's been a  _long_  time since I performed, Ruby. Plus, I'm not sadistic enough to actually take you to the opera. It's just a party to raise funds."

"So I won't have to listen to someone warble through  _The Magic Flute_?"

"Unfortunately, they tend to prefer the Italian composers ... so maybe some Vivaldi. Puccini if we're really unlucky. You needed a break anyway – whenever you're not at the lab, you're buried in your textbooks."

"Are you kidding?" the younger woman turned to her, face aghast at the suggestion. "The Crescent's almost ready for field testing. Weiss, this thing could revolutionize modern weapon design! Targeting assistance with smart bullet support, enhanced recoil suppression to compensate-"

"Yes Ruby, it's a very fancy gun." The corporate executive patted her friend's arm and passed their invitations to the waiting doorman. "I was the one who signed off on the project, remember? It will still be there tomorrow when you go back to work."

The taller girl grumbled, feet shuffling, trying to find a more comfortable position in her pumps. "How do you wear these stupid things every day?"

"Practice and a high tolerance for suffering," Weiss said, ignoring the difference between Ruby's inch-high puppy heels and her own stilettos, and reached out to pat another unruly red-brown lock back into place. "Given the choice, I know you'd rather spend time with your fellow tech-heads, but I do appreciate you scrubbing the grease stains off for one night. I haven't seen you at home much."

Another noncommittal grunt, this one as Ruby passed her coat to yet another waiting doorman. Weiss did the same, then led her friend down the carpeted hall to the ballroom, snatching a champagne flute off a passing tray.

"She misses you," Weiss tried again, waiting for some sort of reaction from the younger girl.

"Yeah, well, she was the one who left." Suddenly, Ruby's eyes went wide, her frown replaced by a completely enthusiastic grin. "Oooh. Shrimp puffs!"

Rolling her eyes, both at the obvious dodge and the immediate run for the h'orderves, Weiss followed Ruby through the crowd.

* * *

_April 12th, 2014. 9:00 PM - Yang_

It probably won't come as a shock to anyone that my skill set doesn't exactly fall on the stealthy side of breaking and entering. Lock-picks have never really been my forte, and my prior experience consists mostly of the incredibly complicated technique called 'kick-in-door with foot.' In my defense, I'd never really needed anything more subtle.

Which, is exactly why I 'borrowed' a pick gun from the supply depot at Fort Castle before I left. Turns out the military police use them when they don't feel like causing a ton of damage to someone's door. Luckily, I had a friend in the supply depot who owed me a few favors, although he probably wouldn't have gone along with it had he known what I was taking. Not being a locksmith or a cop meant I was technically breaking a couple laws just by carrying one, but I figured the possession charge would probably be a lot less significant than the whole 'actually breaking and entering' thing.

Turns out, it's actually not that hard to pick a lock. Stick a torsion wrench into the keyhole, insert the gun's little metal stick, and then pull the trigger. After a couple tugs, the pins in Torchwick's lock clicked right into place. With a twist, the lock turned and the door opened.

It's like a little 'Open Sesame' gun.

Feeling rightfully pleased at my newfound skill (or lack thereof) at the fine art of home invasion, I opened the door a crack and slipped into Torchwick's place, closing the door as quietly as I could. No one was home to hear me, but I still didn't want to alert any nosy neighbors. Then again, this wasn't the kind of place you lived in if you wanted to have someone reputable next door. Even if I got spotted, I had a feeling this wasn't the kind of neighborhood where you called the cops.

I was as quiet as I could be, tip-toeing my way into the apartment. Honestly, I couldn't even hear my own footsteps going in. Which was why I was so surprised when I felt the barrel of a gun being pressed between my shoulder blades.

I froze in place, waiting to see how this was going to go. Not that I had much choice. With the gun where it was, there was no way I could get myself out of the line of fire long enough to make a play for the gun. At least they probably didn't want me dead ... yet. If they had, I'd already have a bullet hole.

"Who the hell are you?" a distinctly feminine voice asked from behind me.

I'll admit, I floundered a bit looking for a lie. Right then, about the only thing I could think of was the truth. Normally that might not be a bad thing, but saying 'I'm someone's daughter on a madcap mission of revenge' probably was not in my best interests. Time to go with the old favorite.

"Uh, I live here," I said, roughing up my accent as much as I could without seeming like a parody. Most people assume the girlfriends of gangsters aren't the most educated people - and usually it's best to give them what they want to hear. "The hell you think you are, breakin' into my man's place?"

"Cute," the woman growled without hesitation, the barrel digging a little deeper against my skin. "But I don't like being lied to."

Crap. Okay, two options: admit failure or double down.

Definitely doubling down. "Excuse me? You sayin' Roman couldn't score someone as good-lookin' as me?"

The unseen woman snorted. "I made you on your second trip by the bodega. Frankly, you're not very good at at this sort of thing." The gun shifted slightly as the woman moved to the side, the barrel slipping from my spine down to my kidneys. "Although, you  _would_  be difficult to believe as a couple. Too tall for him."

The barrel left the space between my shoulders. I didn't move. Without being able to see where the gun was, my chances of disarming her and not getting shot in the process were still pretty damn low.

"Hands up, turn around. No sudden moves."

I did as I was told, more out of curiosity than anything else, hands up at the sides of my head. Waiting to see how close she was, how easy it might be for me to make a grab for the gun – or pull my own – I turned.

I found myself staring at a woman dressed in various shades of black, hooded scarf pulled up and over her face, the rest covering her mouth and nose. I could just make out the high, delicate lines of her cheekbones, the angled bump of her nose beneath the fabric, but it was her eyes that struck me. Bright orange-gold and almond-shaped, ringed with smoky shadows that made them glow beneath her hood.

... alright, fine. All romanticism aside, they were the  _second_  thing I noticed, after the snub nose of .45 caliber handgun pointed at my chest. But they were very pretty eyes.

"So ..." I asked, tired of waiting for the woman to say something. "You come here often?"

One dark eyebrow cocked beneath the hood. "Literal gun to your head, and that's the best you can come up with?"

"Hey, I'm serious. From the gun and the whole modern-ninja-assassin outfit thing, I'm guessing you're not here to wish Torchwick a 'Happy Birthday.'"

She blinked in silent agreement. At least, I thought it was agreement. When she wasn't any more forthcoming, I stumbled on, figuring that even if I couldn't talk my way out of this, I could at least stall for time.

"Look, you're probably not a friend of Roman, I'm not a friend of Roman. How about we both get whatever it is we're here for, and then just go on our merry way? Everybody wins. Or," I said, smile slipping off my face. "I take that gun and beat you unconscious with it. Your choice."

There was a long moment of silence as I stood there, looking at some mystery woman down the barrel of her gun and waiting for her to do ... something. I mean, common courtesy, right? You get someone at gunpoint and then you  _do_  something. You don't stand there and wait for them to die of old age.

She twitched, and I tensed, ready to force myself out of her line of fire. Underhand blow to her wrist ought to do it, get the gun to the side long enough for me to knock her off balance. If she was just a bit closer, I could ...

Turned out mystery woman wasn't giving me the chance. Either I telegraphed more than I thought, or she was smart enough to guess my next move. She shifted back, keeping just far enough away that I'd get shot long before I could reach her. Stepping to the side, she circled around me, quiet footsteps getting softer as she moved farther away.

"Stay here. Don't turn around. You follow me, I  _will_  shoot you."

Disobedient to the last, I waited a few seconds before I turned, catching a glimpse of orange-gold eyes and black clothes as the woman slipped out the now-open window, metal of the fire escape tinging quietly as she vanished into the night. I shot a glance out the window, just in case I could still see her, but she was long gone.

I closed and locked the window – no point in making it any more obvious that anyone had broken in. Whatever that woman had been here for, either she'd already taken it, or I'd surprised her before she got the chance. With nothing else to go on, that just left why I'd come here in the first place:

Going through all his stuff.

I pulled out the little digital camera Weiss had sent me for my twenty-third birthday. My phone technically had a better camera, but no way in hell was I using a wifi-enabled device for my surveillance photos. Step one was going through all his drawers, his mail, his computer (if he had one), snapping pictures of anything that looked like it might give me some clue as to what he was doing here.

Most of what I got useless beyond giving me a clearer picture of one Roman Torchinovich. What few clothes he had fit the style I'd seen him in earlier: white coats, black slacks, and a disturbing amount of eyeliner. Apparently he bought in bulk. That or he'd robbed a Costco. He definitely had a 'singular' look – or he was just trying to make 'droog' into a fashion statement.

No laptop or computer. If he had one, he didn't keep it here. There wasn't anything in the refrigerator, but I did find a loaded Glock duct-taped to the bottom. Carefull not to jar it, I pulled the gun lose and ejected the magazine. On a hunch, I checked the chamber – I was right. He'd already loaded a round. I took that one. If I was lucky, the first time he pulled the trigger, he'd get nothing but a click. I thought about taking all his ammo, but then there'd be no way he could shrug it off as a careless mistake. If he checked, he'd know someone had been here. Either way, that was still one less bullet he could shoot at me.

There wasn't really anything else in the apartment, barring a crudely-drawn map labelling which areas of the city had the dumbest cops. He didn't think highly of the ones out by the docks, which was fair: I didn't think too highly of them either. With nothing else to do, I locked the door behind me on my way out and headed home, with nothing to show for a night's work apart from one stray bullet and a few surveillance photos.

* * *

It was after midnight by the time I finally made it back to Weiss' place. The light in the living room was still on, the television chirping quietly with the neutral peppy sounds of a news anchor. Weiss was sitting on the couch, the party dress she'd worn earlier already replaced with a nightdress, the blanket and pillow I'd been using moved carefully to the side.

"You're back."

"Yup." I nodded, peeling off the various extra layers of clothes I had tried to hide in. Unsuccessfully too, at least according to my interloper. "How'd the party go?"

"Tolerably. Their chairman keeps trying to get me involved – having a Schnee among the trustees would be a fairly nice feather in his cap. So I reminded him that the only opera I'll see willingly is  _Die Wa_ _lk_ _üre._ How was your night?"

"Frustrating and fruitless. Speaking of, is Ruby ..."

"Asleep. She's meeting the advisor for her dissertation tomorrow morning." Arching one imperious eyebrow, Weiss stared up at me. "So, do I go looking for more articles on half-destroyed warehouses?"

I winced. The last thing I wanted right now was press. "Someone actually printed that?"

"Buried on page eight. They assumed a gang war, or a 'disagreement' in the group's leadership. Although ... a few of the arrested members are claiming a crazy woman in black-ops gear blasted her way in. The cops aren't taking them seriously."

"Yeah, 'cause who'd believe a silly story like that?"

Weiss sniffed and scooted over, giving me room to flop down onto the cushions. "It's almost as bad as that 'woman in black' nonsense."

That brought me to a halt.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Weiss rolled her eyes. "You really have only been reading the classifieds, huh?"

"Yes Princess, I am behind on my understanding of current events. I'm a bad citizen, and in a congressional election year no less. I'm awful. I promise I'll get right on it  _after_ you tell me who this woman is."

With one long-suffering sigh, Weiss grabbed the remote, hammering the rewind button for the DVR before pointing at the screen. A TV-pretty woman with a short bob of hair sat behind a desk, a rough police sketch superimposed on her left. The black-and-white sketch featured an agile-looking woman in a tight dark jumpsuit, a hooded mask covering most of her face.

" _Thanks Cyril. In local news today, Vale's resident second-story woman has struck again. The so-called master thief is suspected in a break-in yesterday at the corporate headquarters of Winchester Communications. Witnesses reported seeing a hooded woman dressed in black fleeing the office of CEO Lionel Winchester, her description matching that of a woman spotted at the scene of several other high-profile burglaries over the past few months. The police have refused to comment if anything was taken or if this is being officially attributed to the "Woman in Black," but all signs indicate that whoever this woman is, her crime spree is far from done. This is Lisa Lavender, repor-_ "

Weiss cut off the report with a click, leaving the poor woman frozen on the screen, her face scrunched up mid-word. The sketch had been replaced with a gritty shot from a security camera, showing the back of the woman's head, long dark hair draped across one shoulder.

"Now, why so interested?"

I hesitated, trying to figure out which answer would get me in the least amount of trouble. "I ... might have just run into her."

Weiss stared at me in something on the border between exasperation and disbelief. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Come on. It's not like I did it on purpose. She was in the same apartment I was breaking into."

"And you see nothing wrong with that sentence?"

"Weiss, it was the apartment of a  _bad guy_."

She turned to me, angry retort already primed and ready to fire, then froze. I'd slumped down on the couch, low enough that even Weiss, at five-foot-three, would be looking down at me. Down, into wide violet eyes gazing beatifically up at her.

"That would work a lot better if you were actually shorter than me," she drawled, rolling her eyes and settling back into the couch.

"I work with what I've got." I wriggled my way back up, lounging against the armrest so I could watch her.

"We have another problem," she said grudgingly, and I got the distinct impression that all I'd done was delay the inevitable conversation about my delinquency. "Remember the crack I made about Accounting not doing their job and archiving some of the old prototypes?"

"Vaguely. Why?"

"Apparently, they've decided to start doing their jobs. Figures, the one time I don't get on their case about it, they do it anyway."

"So you need to put it back."

"Oh it's much too late for that," she scoffed. "I had to order a complete investigation."

"And?"

"'And' what? I know how to get around my own security system. As far as they know, the project was simply misplaced. After my little tirade,  _everyone_  knows I'm furious, so whoever thinks it might have happened on their watch is scrambling to make it look like someone else's fault."

"You don't have security cameras?" I asked, skeptical. With the kind of stuff the SDC worked with, they had to have one of the best security systems in the city.

"It's the strangest thing," Weiss said, looking over at me with an expression of complete innocence. "We had a power outage a week ago. The back-up generator failed to activate and our cameras in the warehouse went down. I spoke with our in-house technicians, and they're confident it won't happen again. Something about rats getting into the wiring."

I snorted. "So, we're good for now?"

"Until someone snaps a picture of you running around playing Rambo, and then you'll be on the hook for stealing from Schnee Dust." Weiss drew her knees up to her chest, shifting on the cushions to face me. "Or worse, you get shot again and end up rushed to the hospital."

"Weiss, I can handle myself."

"In a fair fight, sure. But the last time you had a 'lead,' you decided it would be a great idea to go up against an entire gang. Those aren't good odds, Yang."

"Well, this time it's just one guy. He came to town two years ago. The triads already know him, and the ones who actually have to  _deal_  with the guy hate his guts."

"Yang, he has a rap sheet a mile long-"

"Weiss," I said, cutting her off, letting myself look serious for once. "He came to town  _two years ago_. Right before my dad died. He's involved."

She stared at me, hopefully seeing how much I needed this. Finally she sighed, breath hissing through clenched teeth. "Just be careful."

"I'm only planning to watch him. Discreetly."

"Since when do you do anything  _discrete_?"

I shrugged. "Since you asked me to."


	4. Thief, Part III

_April 13_ _th_ _, 2014 - Yang_

Okay, so maybe 'discrete' wasn't _exactly_ the right word. Discrete-ish, maybe? Discrete-esque?

Whatever the word, that's what I was doing, dressed up in Weiss' body armor and staring down at the foreclosed factory that served as Roman Torchinovich's hideout. After all, it wasn't like I just walked in and started shooting up the place. I was doing recon. Scouting the area. Gathering information.

That counts as 'discrete,' right?

I perked up as another car pulled alongside the desiccated building, only to offload yet another Russian-looking gangster, hauling yet another suitcase out of the back before trudging towards the building.

Sighing, I snapped a photo before he vanished, then rolled over onto my back, staring blankly up at the smog-blackened night sky. I grunted, annoyed, and tried to find a position where the steel roof didn't dig into my spine.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, I _really_ hate stakeouts. They're boring and nothing happens for the longest time, and you have nothing to do, and-

And _there's_ Torchwick.

Scrambling for the camera, I just barely snapped a shot of the white-coated gang boss, right as he climbed out of a car that was about as innocuous as a bubblegum pop star. The all-white sedan gleamed in the dirty alley, trying in vain to put its surroundings to shame with its spotless sheen. Instead, the whole scene carried the air of a well-dressed socialite who found herself in a particularly unsavory part of town.

Looking particularly uncomfortable among the back-alley grime, the car beeped softly as its lights dimmed and died. Checking the lock, the driver nodded, then pocketed a key fob and followed his boss into the building. A scrawny man who I'd pegged as the lookout poked his head out the door, peering up and down the back alleys for any sign of movement, before yanking the door shut behind them. The sound of a lock being thrown echoed in the evening quiet, then all was still.

Well ... that was that. I'd found Torchwick, and I doubted anyone else would be arriving tonight. From the looks of it, he was meeting with whichever locals still answered his calls. If Thrush's confession was right, it sounded like Roman was moonlighting as a middleman for some of the other criminal interests around town.

Unless I wanted to hang around until they left, there really wasn't much else to do tonight. Ten-to-one, Torchwick would just head back to his apartment, or one of his other holdings. I might as well just go home. It could reassure Weiss that I wasn't trying to get myself killed. Maybe even see if Ruby would say a full sentence to me this time. Or ...

Or I could see what they were talking about.

... well, one quick peek couldn't hurt.

Yanking the ballistic mask down off my forehead, I settled it in front of my face, took a deep breath, and ran for the side of the roof.

This deep in the industrial district, the buildings were packed fairly close together, with just enough room for a loading zone or an alley before the next warehouse started. An unattended fire escape had led to the top of a garment factory across from Torchwick's hideout, the roof ringed with a low wall designed to help funnel rain down into storm drains.

The next building over was barely five feet from the edge, and several feet lower. It made my job so much easier.

I rolled as I hit the next roof, hitting the three-point landing with the enough grace to make the Russian judge give me the full ten. Okay, maybe not the _Russian_ judge, but it was still a damn good landing.

I crossed the next couple roofs with the same ease, launching myself forward across the alleys and rolling to reduce momentum. Within minutes, I was atop Roman's warehouse, flattening myself against the side of a decrepit air conditioning unit as a guard passed beneath me. Glancing over the side of the roof, I added him to my growing list of Roman's flunkies. The man's uniform and badge said 'Port Security,' but the Russian submachine-gun shoved down the back of his pants disagreed.

_Note to self_ , I thought, crawling along the roof to stay out of sight. _Don't expect the cops to get called if something goes wrong._ Worse, if Torchwick had at least some of the rent-a-cops in his pocket, any VPD patrolmen that _did_ get called might be on his payroll too.

It took me less than a minute to find a door that led deeper into the building, and even less time to crack the lock with my pick gun. One flight of stairs later, and I found myself peeking down at the warehouse floor through the frosted glass of an unused office.

It wasn't a great angle. Most of what I could see was shelves and boxes, but I could just make out a woman standing at the back of the building, flanked by two bruisers who looked like they spent their nights bending steel girders for fun.

"Роман!Как поживаешь?" she called out, one hand coming up to run through her platinum blonde hair.

"Fine," a second voice said.

Roman stepped into view. He had his hat pulled down to one side, and every few steps he tapped his cane on the cement floor. I was surprised – his accent was pure American. I'd expected him to sound more Russian.

"And use a civilized tongue, if you can manage."

"Одного языка никогда недостаточно, little _Roma_." She however, had the accent in spades, and was making no attempt to hide it. She sounded like a villain in an eighties cartoon. "Still trying to play big man after all these years?"

"Look around." Raising the arm with the cane, Roman waved at the warehouse. "I think my operations in Vale are plenty big enough."

"You make yourself a useful little dog to local gang-bangers. _Да_ , _Romanichka_ , we know."

Torchwick's face soured. "At least playing the middleman is better than being the bratva's bitch."

I couldn't see their faces, but from the tension in the two musclemen, I could tell he'd struck a nerve. If they had leashes, they would have been straining at them.

"Do me a favor, Roman," the woman growled, reminding me even more of a dog about to bite. "Remind me why we haven't killed you yet."

"Because I have something you want." Torchwick stepped forward to stare the woman down, eye-to eye, ignoring the two men with their hands on their guns. "For whatever reason, your boss wants something from Vale. That's why you're putting pressure on the Cardinals. Why you're sneaking behind their backs to make a deal with the Triads. You want a foothold, and the only way you're going to get it, the only way you're going to keep it, is if you stay on my good side."

"Now, shall we get to business, or was this just a social call?"

I dropped back down beneath the window as the Russians followed Torchwick out. The last thing I needed was them seeing a masked face watching from the upper floor.

When their footsteps vanished, I peeked back up over the ledge. Torchwick's men were moving to the doors, their hands already on large semiautomatics. I watched as they split up, moving to focus on the perimeter of the building.

That was something. If Roman and the Russians were busy with their deal, and his men were on the lookout for Russian gangsters ... well, they might not be looking too closely at the warehouse itself. They couldn't keep their eyes on all the entrances _and_ the inside of his hideout.

_Sorry, Weiss,_ I thought, and slipped out of the room.

It was easy to wait until one of the guards looked away to drop down from the upper floor. It was even easier to follow the pattern of traffic through the warehouse, slipping behind heavy wooden pallets and shelves filled with cases and crates. Most were wrapped in plastic, with large stamps and customs stickers. Most were from outside the country – Asia, Africa, a few from Eastern Europe.

Probably half of them were legal.

From what I saw, Torchwick kept his grubby little fingers busy. There wasn't time to crack open some of his crates and see what he had for myself – but he was a part of what happened to my father. He was there that night, _and_ he had some sideline with the Russian mob.

_Let's start with his office,_ I grinned as I slipped around a corner, unseen by the guard staring at the darkened street outside. _Then we'll think about wrecking everything he has._

The hallway took me to set of double doors and another hall, this one curving around before ending in a single door set into the wall. A guard stood outside, his finger already on the trigger of a large, nasty-looking handgun. I sighed. It was always such a shame to see poor trigger discipline.

Remaining guard, no easy exit, the room up on the second floor ... _Yup. Definitely his private office. That or a place for him to hide something really juicy._ Either way, that's where I needed to go.

A little whistling brought the guard down the hall to the corner. One love tap to the head and he went down. I almost felt bad for the guy – had to be hard being stupid enough to fall for one of the older tricks in the book.

Once I had zip-ties around his hands and feet and one of his socks belted inside his mouth, I hauled him up onto my shoulder and headed down the hall. A few seconds with my pickgun later, and I slipped in through the backroom door.

Moving fast, I yanked the unconscious guard in after me and closed the door. With any luck, the deal with the Russians would keep his replacement from coming anytime soon. And if they did ... well, at least the hallway made for a great spot to use my gauntlets.

The room was dark. I didn't want to use the lights, it'd be too easy for someone outside to see the lit window. Moving carefully through the room, I tried not to hit anything and waited for my eyes to adjust.

It took a few minutes, but eventually I was able to make out the shapes in the room. A small curtained window in the far wall let in a little light from the street. I pulled the curtain aside and blinked as the little extra light filled the dark room. The window was little more than a glass-covered peep hole, but it still helped a little.

The room _was_ an office. A messy one at that. That was interesting. I'd figured his home was more for show than anything else. It wasn't something you could really use to draw a picture of the man. His clothes, his car, his sense of 'style' all said he was someone who cared about his appearance, who made sure the people around him saw him the way he wanted them to. His office – his private, _personal_ office – lacked the same attention to detail.

The place was more bolt-hole than meeting place. A comfortable-looking cot sat in the corner against the wall, and from the mussed sheets it was clear he'd slept here recently. There was only the one chair behind the desk. No sofa, no chairs, nowhere for visitors to sit. That was good. It meant this wasn't a public space, somewhere he shared with 'clients'. A small door in the wall led to what was probably a closet, next to a coat-rack with a coat identical to the one I'd seen him wearing.

A few glass tumblers sat on the desk. One of them even had a little something at the bottom – whiskey from the smell of it. A few import/export papers lay nearby, scattered randomly over the wood. Looked like he'd thrown them down and ignored them. From the little dust starting to gather on the pages, he'd been ignoring them for a couple days at least.

But it wasn't his legal operations that interested me. I was about to go through his desk, try and find something that could give some clue about his operations, when I heard rustling.

I froze, then dropped down behind the desk. There wasn't anywhere to hide, there wasn't time to get to the closet. If someone came in now ...

No one came through the door. Perfectly still, I listened, waiting with baited breath to hear the sound again.

It did – a low soft rustling, followed by a loud click of metal. The rustling returned, but it wasn't from the door.

I looked over at the guard I'd pulled in with me. No, he was still out cold, unmoving on the thin carpet. _Someone's already in here._

Carefully, I got up from behind the desk. The sound was coming from the closet. I took my time getting there, trying to stay as silent as possible and cursing myself the whole way. I should have checked the door the second I came in. If someone had hidden in there, they could have been waiting for me. Could have come out with a gun – taken a shot at me when I wasn't ready. The armor Weiss had given me might stop a bullet, but the suit didn't come with a helmet, just my ballistic mask. Even if it did, something that would stop a bullet and not give me a concussion at the same time would be way too big to sneak around in.

Moving over to the wall, I inched down it to the door. There was no telling how big the room on the other side was. If I was lucky – if it was a closet – it'd be harder for them to shoot through the wall. If it was a whole room ... well, here's hoping the armor held.

With one quick movement, I grabbed the door knob and twisted. With a pull that strained the hinges, I yanked the door open.

It was a closet. Mostly. A black figure was crouched in the middle of the room, clothes and hangers move out of the way while she emptied the contents of a safe hidden behind a false panel of the wall.

The woman in black whipped around to look at me, her face mostly hidden beneath a scarf and hood. The clothes would have given her away, but it was the eyes that cinched it. Bright gold and gleaming, even in the dimly-lit room.

It was _her._ The woman from Torchwick's apartment. The Vale city Thief. The 'Woman in Black.'

"What the hell are you doing here?"

* * *

"They will do." The Russian woman laid the vials down and closed the matte-black case. The lid clicked shut. Satisfied with the lock, she nodded at the larger of her two guards.

Keeping an eye on Torchwick, the man reached back and pulled out a tablet. Keeping one hand near the gun in his belt, he started typing one-handed on the small screen. After a minute, Roman's phone beeped. Keeping one eye on the Russians, Torchwick glanced down.

_Transfer Complete_.

It was done. Five hundred thousand dollars in an untraceable wire transfer to a Cayman bank.

Nodding, the bruiser put away the tablet and yanked the case off the table.

"Careful." Torchwick chided, wincing as the case screeched along the wood. "There's no telling what that stuff can do to you."

If either bruiser heard his warning, they didn't show it. The two faded back behind their mistress, one now with the death grip on the black case.

"We will need more," the Russian said, tugging at her gloves.

"Good luck with that." Torchwick rolled his eyes when the guards bristled. "Do I look like a biochemist to you? That's every vial there is. You want more, have fun digging up the guy who made it."

The Russian sniffed.

"Удачи, Рома." With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the exit, her bodyguards in tow.

Roman watched her leave. Only after the door closed did the smirk slip from his face, the venom in his voice making the words perfectly clear. "Сука."

* * *

My gauntlets were up before the woman could reach for her gun.

"Don't." I said, when she twitched, her hand moving towards the .45 in her boot holster. "I don't wanna use these on you, but I'm not keen on getting shot either."

Slowly, she got up. For someone who had to have spent several minutes crouching on the floor, the woman in black moved like silk, all smooth motion and flowing clothes. One hand was open at her side. The other gripped a thin notebook, still open to the page she'd been reading. The quick glance I shot the open page didn't tell me much. It's hard to read upside down while holding someone at gauntlet-point. Most of it looked like bookkeeping entries anyway, mostly numbers alongside a few names. But I did catch one word before she snapped the book shut.

_Cardinals_.

"That's his ledger, isn't it?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"I need it," I said softly. If I could get my hands on that, if I could find out who had used him to hire the Cardinals...

It was the best lead I'd had in a long time.

Gold eyes stared back at me, unblinking. "So do I."

We stood there for a good minute, just watching each other, waiting for the other to blink, to twitch, to make some move.

"We could share?" I said, keeping my voice low.

Her eyes narrowed. I think she was trying to tell if I was joking.

She shook her head, never fully taking her eyes from mine. "Not this."

Well, shit.

I heard the click of the door too late to do anything. I glanced towards the door just in time to see one of Roman's guards flick on the lights, a confused expression on his face turning immediately to surprise when he saw the two of us standing in the now-lit room.

My mouth was half open, my second gauntlet raised to threaten him, when someone's shoulder rammed into the chest piece of my armor, knocking me back. Pain blossomed in my side as I fell into the desk. Blinking to clear my vision, I looked back just in time to see her charge past the startled guard, knocking him hard into the doorframe, the ledger still clutched tight in her hand.

_Son of a-_

I raced after her, giving the guard a kick in the side as I passed. Cursing, I watched as she ran around the corner, black clothes whipping behind her as she moved.

Skidding on the floor, I rounded the corner and fired. The concussive blast ripped down the hallway, knocking the two double doors open and sending the woman in black sprawling onto the floor. Grinning, I raced towards her, only to watch as she rolled to her feet and kept moving.

My smile turned to a grimace. Pushing through the pain radiating from my ribs, I bolted down the hall.

She was fast. Faster than me. Unfortunately for her, she didn't have blast-gauntlets to give her a boost.

Firing behind me, I rocketed down the hallway. I landed just in time to watch one of Torchwick's men step out of the hall. The woman in black didn't even pause – mid-run she pivoted, one of her arms wrapping around the man's neck while she knocked his feet out from under him. The man whirled in the air and fell to the ground hard, nearly tripping me as I raced after her.

The whole warehouse was a mess. Everything was corners and hallways and doors that opened up into other rooms. I couldn't catch up to her, and with my blast-jumps, she couldn't quite get away. The next thug who opened a door got an armored elbow from me for his trouble. The one after that popped out in front of her, his expression startled and confused as a black-clad woman dropped to the floor and slid past him. I don't think she ever figured out what happened – especially after he looked up into the gauntleted fist of a masked blonde.

I could hear her breath getting heavy as we rounded one last corner. Grabbing a door, she yanked it open and darted inside. I swore when I saw the sign on the door. Emergency stairs.

I grabbed for it and missed, the door clanging shut. I tried the handle – it was jammed. Stepping back, I fired into the door, knocking it from its hinges. The steel door crumbled, then collapsed back, falling down through the hole in the center of the stairs before getting caught on the railing below.

Trying to ignore the pounding in my ears, I listened, trying to hear which way she'd gone. Footsteps came from both sides. I leaned over the railing and glanced down, only to dodge back when I saw some of Torchwick's goons aiming guns from the floors below. _Up it is._

I was never going to catch her. Not like this, not with gun-toting crooks coming up after us and her with a head-start. I couldn't shoot straight up, even my blast jumps wouldn't get me high enough to ...

Whirling around, I stepped back and crouched, aiming for the next level up. Cocking my gauntlets, I aimed them behind me and braced for impact.

This was gonna hurt.

The gauntlets left two nice, big holes in the wall as they threw me up and forward, just high enough to catch onto the railing of the floor above. I grabbed it and held, my arm straining to pull me and the body armor up onto the stairs. I could hear curses from beneath me – seemed like the blast had knocked some of the debris onto the goons below.

Figuring I could live with that, I fired again, and again, blasting from one level to another, bouncing from floor to floor like some insane rocket-powered slinky. Or a bouncy-ball. I probably looked like one too, blonde hair streaming out behind me as I criss-crossed my way up the staircase. By the fifth railing, my arm ached, the constant strain of supporting my weight starting to get to it. Seeing the roof door, I balanced myself on the edge of the level and fired, hearing the railing crack and shatter behind me as I flew up to the top level.

I made it just in time, slamming into the woman just as she swung the door open. My momentum was too much for the both of us – we went sprawling onto the roof, arms and legs tangling together as both of us tried to knock the other down.

Finally, she kicked me off and rolled away, still keeping a death grip on the ledger. Her hand went to her gun, clearing it from its holster just as a weak shockwave from my gauntlets sent it flying. Glaring at me, she clutched the ledger tighter and settled into a fighting stance.

She wasn't gonna make this easy.

"Nowhere to run," I growled, still half-out of breath from the stairs.

She gave me a skeptical look and broke for the edge of the roof. I beat her there, ducking beneath her punch as I brought my elbow into her side.

She spun away, her foot lashing out in a kick to the ribs injured in my fall against the desk. It hurt, but not nearly as much as it would have without the armor. I made a note to thank Weiss for that, right after she stopped yelling at me for getting into trouble an hour after she told me not to.

The woman in black didn't stop, staying on the move as she darted this way and that, taking every chance she could to land a blow against my wounded side. _She's good,_ I thought, and let her hit, focusing on getting in a few body shots of my own. I managed a couple before she slipped beneath my arm and came back up, long legs wrapping around my right arm before she twisted, yanking back to hyperextend my elbow.

I cursed as she tugged. For a second, I thought she might yank my arm out of its socket. Clenching my teeth, I pulled back my left arm as far as I could, and fired. The shockwave tossed us both to the side, the woman in black crashing into the wall and barely rolling aside before I slammed into her.

The ledger flew out of her hands and landed halfway across the roof, its pages splayed out over the concrete. Rolling to her feet, she raced towards it. My second blast caught her there, knocking her back into the low wall that ringed the roof, and sending the notebook skittering across the ground. I reached for her, trying to catch her before she could get away, but she refused to stay down. She spun away, and all I got was a fistful of hood.

The hood came away as she moved, caught in her jacket. I pulled, trying to drag her closer. I never got close - she threw her arms back and slipped out, leaving a raven-haired woman blinking up at me, scowling at her face being revealed, golden eyes glinting as the tufted ears atop her head flicked.

Wait ... ears?

The Faunus woman glared at me before leaping for the ledger. She almost got it too – but I had Schnee tech on my side. As it was, the shockwave slammed us together, both of us with on hand on the notebook. We rolled, and she ended up on top, bringing her elbow down into my face mask.

It didn't break, but I tasted blood.

Snarling, I threw her to the side, rolling on top to try and pin her down, just in time to hear the gunshot.

_Oh shit._

The force of the shot sent me spinning, knocking me to the ground. I managed to keep ahold of the ledger as the Faunus woman's fingers slipped off. That was something at least.

Seven guards stood near the doorway, all of them armed with semi-autos aimed at the both of us. Right in the middle, framed with the light of the doorway around him, stood Torchwick.

"As much as I enjoy a good catfight," he drawled, cane hanging from his wrist as she stepped out onto the roof. "I think you have something that belongs to me."

The Faunus woman snarled and leapt for the ledger. She never had a chance.

The bullet caught her in the shoulder, sending her spinning over the edge of the roof. I reached out, tried to grab her, but it was too far to reach. My fingers closed on empty air as she fell, landing on the ground below with the sickening thump.

"Ledger. Now." Torchwick sighed, flicking what looked like concrete dust off his coat. "Or you join the kitty-cat in the street."

I looked back at Torchwick and took stock of myself. My arm ached from the jumps, my side felt like I'd been hit by a car, and my shoulder might as well have taken a second car head-on. I was hurting, and on the other side were seven men with submachine guns, all aimed at me.

Yeah. Those weren't good odds. Even if the armor could hold up against all those bullets, my ballistic mask couldn't. Maybe I'd get lucky. _Maybe_ I'd get off one good shot that blew them off their feet.

I looked down at the Faunus woman lying still in the street below. I'd been wrong before. The jumping hadn't been all that bad. This, however ... _this_ was going to _hurt_.

"Ten seconds, blondie." He paused for effect, fingering the handle of her cane. "Nine. Eight ..."

Ledger clutched in my hand, I stepped towards the edge, balancing like a tightrope walker on the wall that ringed the roof.

"Fuck off, Roman." Grinning beneath my mask, I flipped Torchwick the bird, and jumped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm glad to have this back. Anyway, I have something to announce. With how many stories I have going on, I figured that it would help if I had an extra set of hands working on this one at least. Someone who could help me get it out to people faster. So, I've now partnered with [Liara_90](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90) (you should check out her work, it's really fun to read) to work on this AU. Just because of what I had already written, _Thief_ is still mostly me, but starting with _Valkyrie_ , the next section, a good half of it will be written by Liara.
> 
> As usual, please leave a review or comment if you can. (A) It makes my day and (B) it sometimes gives me idea about what you guys would like to see and any mistakes I might need to fix. If you have any questions, comments, critiques, or even just want to say 'hi,' PLEASE put it in a review (I respond to almost any question) or in an ask on tumblr (you can find me as 'Redsuitwriter').
> 
> Seriously - I always grin when I check my notifications and find a review or a follow for a story.


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